Romance Certainly Isn't Dead
by castlefreak1213
Summary: A nausteatingly fluffy piece set during the infamous Hamptons getaway. One Shots, not even really connected in one way. To be continued?
1. Chapter 1

Alright world, I was really bored last night, couldn't sleep, and opened microsoft word. This was the result. It's nauseatingly fluffy and really has no connection to anything, but I had fun writing it so someone might have fun reading it. I leave all the intense, legitimate story lines to the man who might as well be God, Andrew Marlowe. Please review, but be gentle :)

* * *

Takes place in the infamous Hamptons getaway, shortly after a large fight.

**Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN CASTLE, OR ANY CHARACTERS INVOLVED.**

"How do I know you're telling the truth, Rick? I don't want to be afraid of this anymore,"

"Afraid of what, Kate? Since the first day I met you, you know, when you thought I was a murderer and all, you know I'd never…" he joked.

"I'm serious."

"Me too. Since the first day I met you I've been fighting tooth and nail to win you over. These past four years have been the hardest four years of my life, because it's been a nonstop battle. We've almost died – I don't even know how many times. We've been in and out of 'replacement relationships' just trying to make this feeling subside and every time we end up in the same place we started. But now I have you. All to myself. Why would I ever, _ever_ want to throw that away? You know how much I love you."

She'd never heard this tone of his voice. She'd heard the 12 year old, the loving father, the jokester, the jealous maniac, the protective, even the angry partner. But never this. It was… _genuine_. She knew the other times he'd said it were too, but this was different. Maybe she was ready to admit why. She turned her head to the ground and tried to hide a smile.

"I knew there was a reason." She whispered, almost inaudibly.

"What?"

"A reason. I knew there was a reason I let my guard down. A reason I… a reason I let myself fall in love with you."

She looked up, trying so hard not to smile but it couldn't be contained. He recoiled, slowly, gently. "I knew you'd come around. No one can resist the ruggedly handsome charm of a murder mystery novelist." He said, his famously cocky smirk plastered across his face.

"Shut up."

Before she could finish that last syllable she was swept into that familiar realm of fantasy: that one where nothing mattered and everything was safe. His lips against hers, that electricity running through her veins. How could his lips be so soft? His body so warm? His arms, oh god his arms. When did they get so strong? She hated to think it, because it was so cliché, but time was literally standing still. She felt like a princess. Her. Kate Beckett. A princess. A princess at home in her Castle. She held him closer, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The few millimeters that separated them was gone, and so was the ground. She had literally been swept off her feet.

Her arms relaxed, and the sandy ground returned. She smiled at the ground – her face had started to hurt from all that smiling. She felt a lump in her throat, and a thin stream of water fall down her cheek.

"Hey now, what's that for?" He whispered, gently cradling her chin with his palms, bringing it upwards. He wiped away the tear with his thumb. His eyes were so concerned, yet so gentle.

"it's nothing. I'm just… I can't…" His eyes. That blue. That smile. "Say it again."

"Katherine Beckett," He smiled, "I always have, and always will, love you."

She wrapped her arms around his torso, eyes closed, still dreaming.

"I love you, too."

She turned away from him, facing the ocean, and sighed. His hands wrapped around her waist, holding her closer than ever. Her head fell back into his chest. She couldn't see it, but between his silence and heartbeat, she could tell his cheeks were starting to hurt too. She crossed her arms over his, enjoying the solace. He was so warm. That heartbeat, music to her ears.

He kissed her cheek, and whispered, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Yeah, well, I'm a sucker for the ocean" She laughed.

He scoffed. They'd begun to sway back and forth slowly, as if to the beat of a silent tune. Watching the waves crest, the moon twinkling – how could it be so perfect? There's that cliche again.

* * *

She woke up to the sounds of seagulls the next morning. Damn birds, she thought. They couldn't have been more different from the bustling of Manhattan streets at morning rush hour. The sun shined through the window, and she rolled over to avoid its obnoxiously powerful glow.

He looked so peaceful, lying next to her. His hair was a mess, his mouth agape, with quiet puffs of air exiting every so often. She didn't want to wake him, but she couldn't help herself. Her fingers ran through his hair softly, twirling the short locks around her finger. She rested her chin on his chest, smiling, watching him sleep.

He smiled and shifted slightly, eyes still closed. "Morning, detective."

"Morning, you." He wrapped his arms around her as she cuddled up next to him, and kissed her forehead gently.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Surprisingly well. Any plans for today?"

"Does lying in bed like this all day count?"

She tried to hide a smile and shook her head just a little. "Maybe."

"I think I may just be the luckiest man alive."

"Oh?"

"Yep. Luckiest man alive." He kissed her head and pulled her closer to him.

She sighed. This weekend had been nothing but clichés and cheesy chick flick moments. And yet she couldn't get enough. All her life she'd been the hardboiled, driven, independent woman whose "girly" side was reserved for Saturday nights spent with a glass of red wine and a good book. Not anymore, she dreamt. Now all she wanted was flowers and chocolate, long walks on the beach, and a real life version of _The Notebook_.

_Thank God he can't hear my thoughts_.

He was thinking the same thing. Four years spent falling in love. He'd seen her take lives, he'd seen her save hundreds more. He'd seen her cry, he'd seen her laugh. He'd spent hours, days even, trying to figure out what exactly he loved most about her. The not so subtle eye rolls. The smile on her face after that first sip of coffee. The look on her face when she cracked a case. But every time he found the same answer: her eyes. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was about them, but they were unlike anything he'd ever seen, unlike any place he'd ever been. So expressive; anger, laughter, teasing, love, confusion, despair... all made up the extraordinary woman he'd fallen in love with.

"Castle?"

He awoke from his daydream. "Hmm?"

"I'm tired of keeping this a secret."

"But Gates…"

"I know we have to keep it secret at the precinct, but we're not there right now. I want - " She looked at his eyes and touched his hand. "I want to walk around town, holding your hand. I want to do all that terribly sappy stuff in all the stupid movies. I…"

"Well. Looks like we've got quite the day planned then, don't we."

She kissed his jaw, and promptly fell back into his arms, enjoying the familiar solace they brought and closed her eyes. Cliché or not, she could get used to this.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm baack. Boredom strikes again, I hope you guys like it. Please review :)

Disclaimer: The wonderfully designed characters of Richard Castle and Katherine Beckett do not belong to be. They belong to ABC.

* * *

A phone rang on the nightstand. Twice. Loudly. _Damn_, he thought. _Now I have to answer it_.

"Hello?" He grumbled into the speaker, eyes still closed. He stole a quick glance at the alarm clock. 4:43 am. _You've got to be kidding_, he cursed silently.

"Yo, Beckett wake up. We've got something you might want to – Beckett?

_Beckett_.

He wasn't Beckett.

"OH, sorry man, I guess it is still kind of early – um – can you tell Detective Beckett to give the precinct a call when it's daylight?"

Castle opened his eyes slightly and mumbled, "Sure, Esposito."

"Thanks I –"

_Esposito_.

"How did –"

"I have to… um… " _Dammit Castle hang up the phone already_.

"Castle?!"

"Uhh"

"You're the mystery boyfriend?"

"No – I just – I – um – " He scrambled, the brilliant wordsmith lost for words.

"Geez. It took you two long enough. Listen, let Beckett know I called, will ya?"

He hung up before he could let his mouth screw this up anymore. He placed the phone back on the nightstand and held his face in his palms. _Did I blow it? Beckett. Kate. What will Beckett say when she finds out? Espo wouldn't tell the others – oh who was he kidding of course he would_. Four years he'd spent following her. Four straight years spent in the 12th precinct – he couldn't just leave now. The place was practically home. But not _now_. Not now that they were finally –

But maybe it was for the better, now that the boys found out. Lanie already knew – the girl shoulda been a detective with those reading skills. Now they could be a little less secretive, right?

_Gates_. She was a detective too. Good enough to become Captain. What had he done.

* * *

He sank lower, resting his head on his hands, staring at the empty ceiling.

He heard faint grumbling and rustling. She rolled over, still unconscious, burying her head in his chest. One hand on her stomach, the other directly over his beating heart. He sighed, gently, making sure not to wake her, and cradled her tiny frame in his arms.

The empty ceiling was quickly flooded with memories of those four years. All juxtaposed with no linear time or meaning, just memories he'd stored so effortlessly in his mind.

_The first time he saw her_.

_The sight of her apartment suddenly engulfed in flames._

_The way her hair used to be._

_The way her hair was now._

_The times they'd gone undercover. She looked so beautiful in a dress._

_She looked so beautiful no matter what._

The ceiling turned dark. Memories of all the times he'd seen her fall – seen the life drain out of her body – worried she'd never know how he really felt.

_The freezer in the warehouse._

_Her shooting._

He closed his eyes and held her just a bit tighter, still careful not to wake her. He knew it wasn't his right to feel that way. They weren't together then. And he certainly wasn't the one that was shot. But he might as well have been.

When he opened his eyes the ceiling replayed more painful memories. As much as he wanted to ignore them, deny their existence, write them out of their story, they were still there.

_Josh._

_Gina._

_Demming._

_Meredith._

_Sofia._

_Sorenson._

Slaughter's face even crossed the panels for a brief moment. Painful as they were to remember, a memory was a memory. If they hadn't been here, _they_ wouldn't be where they are now.

He closed his eyes once more, and tentatively opened them to gaze upon the ceiling. He was almost afraid of what he'd see.

Thankfully, he was pleasantly surprised at what was in front of him.

_Her smiles_.

On what seemed to be an endless loop.

_Her eyes_.

Piercing through the screen.

_Her_.

That was all he wanted. _She_ was all he wanted.


End file.
